#gonna be a shitpost blog for when the mental instability hits

[pinkypromisedkisses]

mitski's music operates on a frequency that speaks only to me

[teejaydeetrip]

WE LOVE HATE. WE HATE LOVE. WE LOVE LOVE. WE HATE HATE.

For the first time in my entire life, I’ve been really happy lately. I woke up one day, a month ago, and had one of my good days, after dealing with a situation that would usually fuck me up really bad. In a nut shell; I tried to kiss a girl I liked and it didn’t work out but I tried this weird total honesty thing and it was the right person at the right time to make me walk away feeling good and ok about rejection. We still talk.  Instead of just coasting on that good feeling and trying to enjoy my day, I got into D O I N G T H I N G S. I got more involved with a lovely group of activists and together, we helped make a small difference by putting on a big event.  I thought more about girls, because I’m a hopeless romantic who happens to be romantically hopeless. I addressed, internally, some unresolved issues with the way I treated myself and how I reacted to love and sex and admiration and the necessary distinctions between them that I’ve always felt #normalpeople are supposed to have.  I stopped caring so much about the alienation I have felt for a long time from lots of my real friends and embraced the appreciation and love I got from -of all fucking places- a shitposting meme group. The group is a whole other story that deserves it’s own entry so I won’t get into that. But they are literally always there to listen and to listen to and it’s fantastic.

I stepped up my game at the bar I work at and drastically reduced my alcohol intake. 

I started an instagram blog thingy with a friend, and we make stupid, fun, experimental cocktails based on music we love. It’s a weird contradiction to the aforementioned addressing of my alcoholism, whilst embracing a small part of it and using it for good.  I started writing fiction again, and for the first time ever, I truly genuinely love what I’m creating. It’s fucking brilliant. I take pride in that and I can’t wait to show people.  I’ve been putting on some cool little events. They haven’t been successful, but between them, and a few random friends reccomendations, I’ve been llistening, like really listening, to music again. New music. Exciting music. Music is doing that thing to me again where I get little goosebumps sometimes and I scream lyrics out loud while walking around the house. I’m also writing music, which is weird and cool.  But. All this stuff. Has resulted in a severe lack of sleep and a severe lack of proper eating habits. I don’t have the time to sleep or eat, because I’m busy creating. Henry Rollins did this bit once about how the moment he stops working on something, ANYTHING, he just starts negging on himself.  Lots of my friends told me I would burn myself out real quick. But why would I stop, and how can I stop? If I stop, for even one fucking second, I fear I will fall back into nothingness. I need to keep going. But it is killing me and I am feeling it. The burnout is real. How I wish I had the resources Henry does.

The last few weeks have been fuelled by a genuine love for life. And last night, after a little argument with my boss -who I now know see’s me as an incompetent nobody despite all the extra work I put in- the fuse blew. I was fuelled by hate again. I used to thrive on it. And look where that got me? Doing nothing forever. The Anti-Henry. An Ouroboros of hate. I spent my entire walk home from work -my zen time, my singing time- fantasising about accidentally running into two specific people from my past. Either one of them would do. These two people were once good friends, and it turned out they were using me, and they sucked me dry and destroyed my life. I thought about how good it would feel to have them run into me and try to attack me; which they certainly would do if our paths ever crossed.  I thought about S**** or C*** king hitting me in the face and how, yeah, I could probably  take it. I could laugh it off. But what if my laptop broke in the process? Or my phone? What would I do? All my hard work is on these little patchworks of steel and plastic. Maybe if they broke my shit, I would chase them down, I thought. I don’t care how small or weak I am. I would chase them down and I would fucking annihilate them with my fists and my feet and my teeth and my voice and my rage. I would chew the flesh from their fucking faces and pull their teeth out one by one with my fucking fingers and it would feel so goddamn good. I know none of this is real. I know I would never do that. I would go home nursing my broken laptop and never find my “novel” again because I can’t afford a data recovery service. I know I would never do it because it would ruin my life. You don’t live on the razors edge of mental instability like this and truly think you would last a week in a prison or a mental institution. I know I would never do it because as much as I yearn for The Apocalypse, I’m a pacifist and I like seeing people healthy and happy. I woke up feeling like shit today. Because those kinds of thoughts, and the fact that I can think them, they scare me. I want to put it down to primal human nature, but it feels more like narcissistic toxic macho culture or some bullshit.  While I’ve spent the last few weeks fuelled by a love for life and shit, I have still felt hate, and anger and resentment and sadness, but it’s been worth it. The cycle was broken, and a balance was formed, and there was some parts of life worth living. I didn’t think about how sometimes I secretly want other people to hurt as much as I do. People want to talk to me. I refuse to believe them, but lots of people keep telling me I’m actually really great. Which is really nice.  Today, I’m typing this fucking nonsense because I hope it will help me vent my shit. I want to nap. It is way too early for me to be awake. I hope that when I wake up, I can find that perfect balance of hate and love again. Just, y’know, allocate them to the appropriate parts of my mind. I’m gonna nap.  And when I do wake up, I’m gonna smoke a cigarette and if I can, maybe work on that writing. I might even try and believe I am a person of worth. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Or narcissism. Or maybe it’s deserved. You can’t not give equal opportunity to any possibility and still have a nap and hope for the best. I feel like that would most certainly be ignorant and antithetical.